


I Can't Forget the Time or Place Where We Just Met

by alwaysthrowsscissors



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Incest, Amnesia, Amnesiac Dean Winchester, Amnesiac Sam Winchester, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Makes Assumptions, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester First Time Having Sex, Dirty Talk, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mutual Attraction, One Shot, Porn, Porn with some plot, Prompt Fill, Rimming, Shame, Sibling Incest, Smut, Stranger Sex, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysthrowsscissors/pseuds/alwaysthrowsscissors
Summary: Sam and Dean fall asleep on the couch, wake up cursed with amnesia, and assume they're in a relationship. After exploring their surroundings, they can't keep their hands off each other any longer. The curse breaks mid-sex.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 364
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Fall 2020





	I Can't Forget the Time or Place Where We Just Met

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [I Can't Forget the Time or Place Where We Just Met](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872089) by [YigeLulu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YigeLulu/pseuds/YigeLulu)



> Written for the SPN Masquerade Fall 2020 round. Affectionate alternative title: New Couch, Who Dis?
> 
> Just be mindful that the boy's don't know they are related when they get going, so if you feel there are consent issues or it would otherwise make you uncomfortable, do not proceed. If that makes you tingly and wonder how they will react, please read on!

“Would you stop playing around with that fucking thing?” Sam glared at Dean from the other end of the couch, typing away at his laptop like it was also personally offending him.

“Relax, nothing’s gonna happen unless I open it.” Dean appraised the little, intricately carved wooden box in his hands that he was fiddling with. They had found it in the basement of an abandoned house that was rumoured to be haunted. “Have you figured out yet what it is? You've been at it for hours.” 

“No I haven't, and I notice you've conveniently abandoned your lore books.” Sam’s bitchface intensified.

“It's late and I can't stare at that dusty old print anymore.” He tossed the last book that was laying ignored on his lap onto the coffee table and stretched. “Give it up for tonight. Let’s watch _The Shining_ like we planned.” Dean waved a hand towards the tv.

“I really don't feel safe just leaving the box laying around without knowing what it is.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “You're such a tight ass, it’ll be fine. C’mon Sammy, it's the 30th anniversary of the theatrical release, we gotta pay our respects.” 

Sam snapped his laptop shut with a sigh and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Fine, but only if you set it up.” 

Dean grinned and grabbed the three remote controls necessary to get to the DVD mode on the convoluted tv system he’d bought for the Dean Cave. A few minutes later, they were besieged by the ominous opening credits music and sweeping mountainside vistas as the Torrance family drove towards their ultimate doom. Dean looked over at his brother feeling content, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers along the grooved carvings of the box. 

***

Consciousness slowly crept in from the edges, chasing away the last disjointed images of dream state. Eyes still pressed shut, he slowly became aware of warmth radiating beneath him. It filled his chest with comfort, he felt cozy, relaxed. As his brain came more and more online, he noticed that he was gently rising and falling and that he could hear a heartbeat. He finally opened his eyes: a tv, stuck on a DVD home menu, looping the same music over and over; a laptop and books on a coffee table; and, very close to him, a shoulder and a long tanned arm. He was on top of someone. Where the fuck was he and how did he get here? 

He propped himself off the anonymous chest and looked up into the face of the other person. He raised his brows, stomach swooping, taken aback. A man. A gorgeous man. Completely placid looking, long dark hair framing a strong stubbled jaw, beautiful pink lips relaxed with sleep, perfect nose, lashes fanned out on his cheeks, the prominent thing on his mind was how much he wanted to see those eyes. The next thing was: who the hell is this? He tentatively placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake until he began to rouse. His eyes opened, stunning hazel, and immediately widened in surprise. 

“Who the fuck are you?” The man sat up quickly, shoving him off, forcing him to shuffle backwards on the couch. 

“I, I’m...I’m…” Blankness, nothing. “Who are you?”

Puzzlement crossed the man’s face scratching away at the defensive aggressiveness that had sprung there a moment before. “I’m...I...I don’t think I know…” The man looked down at himself as if searching for clues. “What is all this?” Chunks and splinters of what appeared to be wood were scattered across the man’s stomach. Looking down at his own chest, he realized that he also had wood remnants clinging to his shirt.

“I honestly have no goddamn idea what’s going on.” He brushed away the wood, worrying his bottom lip. “I don’t know you, I don’t know where we are, I don’t know my own fucking name.” Panic began clawing at his chest.

“Ok, calm down, let's look at the facts. We woke up...cuddling… on the couch and we’re in sleep clothes.” The big, long fingered hands carefully went about gathering the wood and placing it in a neat pile on the coffee table as the man spoke.

“Yah ok, friends?”

“I dunno,” a handsome flush coloured the man’s cheeks, “I feel more of a...pull to you. Something more intimate than friends I think.”

“Oh yah, a pull?” He grinned. “You like what you see?”

“Yah, I do actually, and I think you do too.” The man pointed downward at his lap. Yup, he was hard.

“Well, it is the morning,” he said sheepishly, running a hand through his short hair, “but yah, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think you were ridiculously good looking.” He was rewarded by a deeper flush and a pleased smirk revealing dimples he impulsively wanted to kiss.

“So maybe we’re a couple and something happened to us so that we lost our memory?”

That felt right. Although he didn’t know who this person was, he felt eased by his words, comfortable in his presence. They must be lovers if he felt this deep inexplicable sense of attachment to the guy. “We should try to figure out who we are first. We must have ID’s somewhere.” 

He looked around the room taking in the foosball table, shelf of booze, leather recliners, and posters on the wall with the words Led Zeppelin on them, whatever the fuck that meant. No wallets appeared to be in this room. He turned to his partner who seemed to be reaching the same conclusion.

“Let’s check out the rest of the house.” 

His eyes travelled up the man’s body for what seemed like an eternity as he stood up. “Holy fuck, you’re really tall.” His tone betrayed just how hot he thought that was.

“Yah, I am.” That little half smirk again that made his knees a little weak when he finally stood up beside the sexy giant.

“Lead the way.” Once the man’s back was turned, he tucked his annoyingly determined boner into his waistband. Watching those broad shoulders, narrow waist, and tight, little ass walk away from him meant it wasn't going away any time soon. 

They headed into the hallway that wound like a maze, opening into a large room filled with tables and books. This led to another room with a huge map on the wall and a stairway leading upwards to a metal-banistered second level. He regarded his new friend for his reaction and he found his own awe mirrored on the man’s face. 

“What is this place?”

“I dunno.” He looked around noting the fluorescent lighting, the only natural light coming from small, high, art deco windows, close to the ceiling. He felt the bone coldness of the tiles under his socked feet. “I think we might be underground in some big, elaborate basement.”

“Yah, I think you’re right. Fuck, what if it’s a bomb shelter? What if something happened out there?” The guy's voice sounded increasingly panicky. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said as soothingly as possible, hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. “Identities first. Come on, we’ll look for bedrooms.”

They padded around the halls and eventually found the living quarters. The first room was unremarkable, spare except for some books and a handful of records. His partner picked up a wallet on top of the dresser and opened it. 

“It’s you. You’re Dean Winchester,” the man said, tossing the wallet to him.

“Dean, hmmm. Is there another one?”

“Nope, and there's only one pillow on the bed. We sleep apart I guess?”

“Maybe you snore.” Dean teased. 

His partner rolled his eyes. “Stay here, I’m going to look in the other rooms.”

He flipped the wallet open and looked at the ID. That was him alright, but the name wasn’t bringing any memories back to him like he thought it would. The name was just as foreign to him as the tall stranger was. He said it aloud to himself a couple times to get the feel of it. 

“Well Dean, nice to meet you, I’m your husband, Sam.” The man was back and holding out his hand to shake Dean’s.

“Husband! We’re married?” Dean sputtered as he shook the warm, calloused hand. 

“This is me,” Sam held out the ID, “Samuel Winchester.”

“Fuck, how did I get so lucky? I found such a stud who was willing to marry me,” Dean said, inspecting the card.

“Are you kidding? You need to look in a mirror, I’m the lucky one.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush. “Winchester, huh? I wonder who took who’s name.” Dean playfully pushed Sam’s shoulder, evading the compliment. 

The smile drained from Sam’s face, rapidly replaced by a shocked frown, interrupting their casual flirtation. “What the fuck?” Following his pointed finger, Dean found several huge guns on the wall.

“Uhhh...maybe it's for deer?”

“Christ I hope so, I can’t handle being NRA lovers." Sam carded a hand through his hair grinning nervously. “I guess we should keep looking around and figure out what’s going on.”

Dean nodded reluctantly, not really wanting him and his fellow amnesiac to leave the vicinity of the inviting bed. “Yah, you’re right. I think I’ll get dressed though.” Dean stretched out his hand to give Sam his ID.

“Good call, I’ll do the same.” Sam gave him one more smile, fingers grazing across the back of Dean’s hand, lingering momentarily before taking the card and disappearing back to his oddly separate room.

Dean shook off the tingles that ran down his spine and pulled his grey sleep shirt over his head. Lifting an arm, he took a whiff of his armpit. Not terrible, but he wanted to make a good impression so he swiped on some deodorant he found and threw on a clean shirt from the dresser. He looked at himself in the mirror and tidied his sleep-tousled hair. Yah, that was better, that’s husband material. Sucking in his cheeks, he hit a couple blue steel angles before stepping out of his sweats and perusing the next drawer down. Flannel. So, so much flannel and a couple other soft, worn button downs. He picked one that had a thick red and black plaid and threw it on as Sam re-entered the room.

“You too with the flannel?” Sam said, finishing the buttons of his blue plaid shirt.

“Must work in construction or something. It looks like an L.L. Bean catalogue threw up in this drawer.” Dean, grinning at his joke, looked to Sam who’s gaze was focused below the flannel in question. Dean grabbed a pair of jeans and took his time pulling them on over his boxer briefs as Sam cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Dean could get used to seeing that beautiful colour on the guy's cheeks. He also caught the smell of a clean, fresh cologne and felt a tingly wave of affection towards Sam; looks like he wasn’t the only one who wanted to impress.

“Alright Yeti, let’s look around.”

Their exploration of the underground bunker was anything but boring, and not just because Dean kept catching his so-called husband’s eyes on him. They found a multitude of rooms with all sorts of strange equipment. Most disturbingly, they stumbled on a dungeon with chains and strange circular rune things on the floors and walls, prompting Dean to make a BDSM-sex-freaks joke to which Sam responded by gulping nervously. Dean quickly became taken with studying Sam when his attention was drawn to their strange dwellings. His long legs, his strong frame, the amount of chest visible that he so badly wanted to plunder. It was difficult to focus on their dilemma, his mind so often wandering back to the bedrooms, envisioning what Sam could do with those pink lips. 

"Oh my God, look at that thing,” Sam said in awe.

“She’s so beautiful.” They had made their way outside and were immediately distracted by a big, black muscle car. 

“It says it’s an Impala,” Sam noted as he walked around to the driver's side, eyes meeting Dean’s over the car and there was heat there, causing Dean’s heart rate to pick up. 

“Never heard of it.” Dean broke contact, opening the passenger side door and following Sam onto the bench seating. It smelled like leather, sweat, and something coppery. The scent tickled the back of his memory but brought nothing forward into view. Sam was running his hands over the steering wheel and Dean immediately pictured him doing the same to his cock. He couldn't stop himself from staring yet again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Sam looked so sexy sitting there, framed by the car’s window. Powerful, in control, slight smile on his face as he appraised the dashboard. But something felt off about it, something wasn’t right. 

“This feels...weird.” Sam said, shifting his focus over to Dean.

“Doesn’t look weird, you look great behind the wheel, Sam.” Dear God those dimples. “But you’re right something’s off. Maybe it’s not our car? There was that whole garage full of vehicles back there.” 

Sam nodded slowly. “Let’s look in the trunk anyway. There could be clues about what we do.”

“I’m still saying we’re going to find hard hats and orange vests.”

Popping open the trunk revealed a carpeted hatch would have been completely unremarkable if it wasn't for another gigantic white rune painted on the trunk lid. They exchanged a glance before Dean reached in and opened the hatch. Guns, machetes, daggers, brass knuckles were strewn all over the trunk haphazardly. Sam slowly stepped back.

“What kind of fucking psychos are we?” Sam said breathlessly. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s a grenade launcher.” Dean scrubbed his face with his spare hand as if to try to rid himself of what he was seeing.

“Crucifixes and rosary beads? This shit is definitely not for hunting.” 

“We must be some kind of...vigilante...exorcists?” Dean guessed wildly.

“Close that shit before someone sees it!”

Dean released the hatch lid and slammed the trunk shut. “If there are other people still, that is.”

They spent the rest of the day taking close inventory of the bunker and attempting deep dives on the laptops they found. Unfortunately, their former selves were diligent about deleting search histories, so the best they could do was prove to themselves once and for all that Kansas wasn’t hit with a weapon of mass destruction. They had to concede, for now, that they were either heinous murderers or occult weirdos.

They made dinner together that evening, fitting comfortably into each other’s space, finding a rhythm around the kitchen as if their bodies knew intrinsically how to work and move around one another. Light chit-chat over pasta flowed into deeper conversation over beers. Hours of warm gazing and caressing of hands made Dean’s heart leap and he longed to get closer, touch more, kiss everywhere. 

“Hang on a sec.” Sam said. They were calling it a night and Sam left Dean standing awkwardly in his room. He returned promptly with a pillow tucked under his arm

“You gonna move in?” Dean flirted, tugging the pillow away from Sam and hitting him with it before throwing it on the bed next to his.

“Well, I figure I’ll see if I can handle whatever weird restless leg shit you have going on before we decide to sleep apart.” Sam was tugging on Dean’s shirt pulling him close. Dean’s eyes flitted between those beautiful hazel irises, to the pink curl of Sam’s lips. God, this better not be some dream.

“You’re the one with the long legs, you probably have the problem,” he murmured, feeling the heat rise in his chest as he wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist. 

“Yah, but you’re bow-legged. Probably a recipe for disaster.” Sam’s face was dipped so close that Dean could feel his breath play across his lips. A trill of nervous excitement shot through him. They were apparently married but he had butterflies in his stomach like a schoolgirl. He knew he should be focused on the fact that neither of them could remember a damn thing, but all he wanted was-

All thought escaped Dean when those perfect lips pressed resolutely against his. He kissed him back enthusiastically and felt his skin from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes erupt with tingling pleasure. They had a synchronicity: opening their mouths at the same moment, tongues meeting, slipping and exploring; Dean tangled a hand in Sam’s hair and felt him tilt into his palm; as Sam grabbed and tugged, Dean was pliant and accepting. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind about the nature of their relationship. His body was responding, awakening to Sam’s lips, tongue, touch, as if they had done this dozens of times before. His mind may have forgotten, but his body knew this was right, this was home. Sam was home. 

Dean pulled back breathless. “Can I undress you?”

“You can do anything you want to me,” Sam nearly whispered, eyes blown, chest rising and falling heavily against Dean’s 

“Oh my god, this is fucking crazy. You’re…” Dean backed him towards the bed, unbuttoning the flannel, stripping it off and pulling Sam’s undershirt over his head. His sentence was interrupted by the sight of Sam’s fit body. “Wow...just wow, Sam.” Why the fuck did they bother getting dressed and leaving his room this morning.

Sam grinned biting his bottom lip and pawed at Dean’s tshirt, tugging it up. Dean pushed him onto the bed by his chest and added his shirts to the floor. As Dean knelt over him, Sam snaked a possessive hand up his stomach, across his chest, up his neck and cupped his jaw, feeling his skin, a look on his face as if he’d never seen another man’s body before. 

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.” He murmured. 

Dean shivered yet felt overheated at the same time. He kissed Sam deeply again before dipping down and hastily unbuttoning and pulling Sam’s jeans off, revealing boxer briefs barely containing his erection. Dean wet his lips and hastily removed his jeans and socks. Sam crawled backwards on his elbows up the bed, eyes flicking to each movement Dean made.

“Take them off.” The lusty rasp in Sam’s voice took him off guard, suddenly making him feel slightly self-conscious. “I want to see all of you.” 

Why hold back now? Dean hooked his thumbs in his waistband and slowly pulled his boxers down, enjoying the impatient whine coming from Sam. When his hard cock sprung out, he dropped them on the floor and looked into Sam’s eyes, hands on hips, eyebrow raised. 

The look on Sam’s face was very encouraging indeed. Jaw dropped, brows almost to his hairline, pressed inward with yearning, his hips rolled seemingly instinctually as his eyes took in Dean’s cock.

“Get over here, now,” Sam growled, and Dean didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as he laid down beside him, his mouth was rushed by Sam, pressing hard, needy kisses into him, biting his bottom lip, sucking his tongue like a man unhinged. He was ravenous and wanton and Dean met him with the same wild energy, kissing back like it was his last day on earth. 

Coolness was forming on the tip of his cock; he was throbbing, precome pooling over the head, wanting. He reached down to rub Sam’s dick through his briefs, he felt an excited jolt run through his arm when he felt the fabric was wet. He plunged his hand beneath the waistband and wrapped his fingers around Sam’s girth. Fuck he was thick and completely delicious, his hot breath shuttering into Dean’s mouth, softly moaning as he jerked his dick. His thumb swiped through his precome using it to guide his strokes.

“God, I want to fuck you, is that ok?” Sam moaned, hot and sticky against Dean’s ear, arms wrapped around him, running up and down his back soothingly. Dean’s stomach dipped so hard it felt like missing the bottom two steps. He had no idea if he normally bottomed but he sure as fuck didn’t care right now.

“I want that so fucking bad, Sam.” He tried to keep his voice steady but his heart was pounding with aching need and his words came out in shuddering urgency. 

Sam slid on top of him, pushing him easily onto his back, eyes pinned to Dean’s with a look of almost dangerous promise. Dean’s head tipped back, brows stitching together as Sam snaked a hand between them to grab his cock.

“My husband is so thick, so long,” Sam rasped, sliding down to lick and bite Dean’s nipple. 

“Uhnn, so are you, you’re going to stretch me out so good,” Dean moaned. 

Sam whimpered and squeezed his dick, hard. He no longer seemed to be able to take his time, sliding down Dean’s body impetuously and shoving his legs up. Dean was beyond grateful; they had their whole lives to fuck each other slowly, but his lust for the stranger was too much. 

“How are you mine?” Sam’s breath tickled Dean’s hole sending shivers up and down his spine. 

Before Dean could reply, his hips were bucking off the bed at the divine sensation of Sam’s sinfully hot, broad tongue gliding over his perineum without warning, his hand firmly squeezed around his cock. It then hit his taut stomach as Sam’s big hands spread his cheeks roughly, tongue dragging and lapping over his hole, tip circling and breaching the entrance, making him unclench, relax, allow himself to get wet and ready. Dean began erratically spitting out his lover’s name, rocking his hips, holding his own legs as Sam’s tongue laved over his ass, firm and wet, desperately fervent. If he ever felt this before, he simply could not remember. It felt like the first time anyone had touched him, anyone tasted him, but he knew he was safe and in good hands. He felt electrified and wanted more, all of Sam. 

“You taste so good bab- Dean,” Sam breathed, sliding his fingers into his mouth to suck.

Dean grinned, lip caught between his teeth, and looked down at the beautiful man between his legs. “You can call me anything you want, _baby_.”

Sam smiled almost shyly and kissed his exposed thigh, index finger flirting at his hole. Soon Dean swallowed it to Sam’s palm, groaning and squirming on the bed. 

“More Sam, I can take it.”

His breath hitched as Sam pressed a second finger inside of his hot, wet ass. Sam fucked his fingers in and out, finally stroking his needy dick again, showering his thighs with soft kisses and sharp nips, giving Dean an indication of his lover’s mounting lust. When Sam was splaying three fingers so much that Dean shouted he was going to come, he pulled them out leaving Dean whimpering and writhing on the bed. 

Sam swiftly stood to yank down his boxers, finally revealing his throbbing cock to Dean. He looked like a fucking god; perfection. Dean couldn’t help but leer at him hungrily; he would pinch himself if it wasn’t so goddamn cliché. His empty hole clenched with anticipation, waiting to be filled with all that length. 

Sam kneeled between his legs, a devout expression on his face as if his thoughts about Dean matched Dean’s newfound obsession with Sam. Sam had checked the bedside table and Dean thanked himself, whoever that was, for keeping lube stashed there. He felt Sam slick some against his hole, thrusting his fingers back in making him keen and lock his jaw so that he wouldn’t beg. Finally, he felt the tip of Sam’s huge dick against him, pushing smoothly past his rim, filling him up slowly. Dean clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, it felt so fucking good. Sam tugged his hand away. 

“I want to hear you moan for me,” Sam murmured. He leaned down and kissed Dean deeply, dragged his cock back, and pushed himself deeper into Dean. And Dean did moan, against Sam’s lips; he couldn't help himself, breath ragged, as Sam began fucking him steadily. He could feel himself stretching to accommodate him, felt himself ripple and clench, pleasure surging through him, gathering in his stomach.

“How do I feel?” Dean panted. He was way too hot, overheated.

“So fucking good Dean, so tight for me.” 

“You’re so incredibly sexy, Sam.” Dean held him close so that he could kiss and lick into that beautiful mouth, sending electricity all over his body, amplifying the sensations inside of him, the hard, smoothness of Sam’s cock. He ran his hands over the sweat-slick muscles of his back and into his damp, long hair. Sam thrusted hard, bottoming out so that every inch was snug in Dean’s ass. The fullness, the stretch, Sam’s breathy grunts and moans, the confident snap of his hips, Dean was getting ahead of himself, getting close to coming. 

Suddenly, it felt as if his head split open. Innumerable, intrusive images filled his vision as he cried out, clenching his eyes tight shut. The pictures were in his mind, memories, flashing rapidly, filling the void. Poking a dead frog with a stick, mom smiling in the sunshine, crying about dropped ice cream and dad’s not impressed, Sammy’s first steps, mom in the kitchen making boxed cake, Uncle Bobby giving him a pellet gun, Sammy’s first day of school, dad’s furious he took Baby on a joyride, Sammy going to Stanford, Sammy by his side in a vampire nest, Sammy on a bed next to his in a shitty motel, Sammy, Sammy,

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was shaking and felt far away, not coming from his own mouth. He said the name like a question but he knew who it was. He knew Sam’s scent better than he knew himself. Knew it was Sam frozen on top of him, sweating, naked, eyes huge with horror. Sam was inside of him. His _brother_ had his cock inside of his _ass_. 

Sam scrambled off of him, yanking out of Dean with a grunt, leaving him jarringly clenching around nothing. He was impulsively regretful of the emptiness. 

“D-Dean what the fuck is happening?” Sam looked panic stricken trying and failing to find a sheet to cover himself up with; they had kicked all the covers onto the floor. 

“Jesus, we’re...fucking,” Dean gruffed, sitting up and covering his hard, leaking dick with his hands, sickly hot shame licking up his stomach and bare chest. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the _fuck_. 

“Why? Why the fuck would we-” His eyes were saucers.

“I did _not_ make you Sam,” Dean said firmly. His brother hadn’t even suggested an accusation, but then again when did Dean ever slow down enough to stave off defensiveness. 

“I didn’t know- I wasn’t myself, I-I forgot who-,” Sam stammered, red all over that had nothing to do with his earlier exertion.

“Freaking out isn’t helping,” Dean said hypocritically, feeling his own panic strangling him. But they both couldn’t spiral, he had to try to be level for Sammy. “We both forgot who we were...it must be-”

“That goddamn box! I told you not to play with it!” 

Dean stared at his feet, horrified, frowning hard, hue matching Sam’s. He rarely heard his little brother this hysterical and felt his guts twist with guilt. “Yah, well, you couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was. This isn’t just on me,” Dean grunted.

Sam sighed heavily and Dean allowed himself to look at him. The memory of him being a stranger was still fresh, appreciating his body, his looks, his mouth. Longing for him, enjoying him. He bit his lip, heart hammering, skin still on fire from their bodies pressed tightly together, being fucked so well. Fucking hell, being fucked so well by _Sam._

“Sam, would you just look at me,” Dean barked a little more harshly than intended. Hazel eyes hesitantly dragged slowly up his body and met his own. “We didn’t know who we were, we thought we were a couple.” God, he really was so sexy, so beautiful glistening with sweat. 

“I was fucking my brother, fucking him…” Sam was gnawing his lip, hands pressed over his cock, bent forward slightly, looking pained. If he just reached out he could touch him, reassure him.

“Are you still hard?” Dean asked plainly. 

“I really can't take you mocking me right now.” Damp hair had fallen in his face and he was no longer meeting his eye, squirming, brow stitched together in a needy, undone expression. He could have sworn he heard a whimper, and saw the heel of his hand press against himself, seeking relief.

“Come here,” his tone was softening; big brother trying to fix it. 

“This is so fucked, I shouldn't-I shouldn’t want…”

“Come here, Sammy,” Dean murmured, “I’m hard too.” He reached out a hand and squeezed Sam’s trembling thigh. Sam melted to the touch, head bowed. Dean began tugging, grabbing at his thigh, his arm, desperation mounting. Sam leaned back towards his brother, slowly getting onto his hands and knees, shaking his head as if a deep conflict was waging inside of him. 

“Dean…” Dean spread his legs to show him his cock and Sam’s lips parted, breath hitching. As Sam moved between his thighs, Dean pushed himself out to lay back down, grabbing under his arms and yanking him on top of him.

“Sammy, I liked it.” The last word of his confession was barely out before Sam’s mouth pressed against his. He made a sobbing sound, kissing him fervently again. 

“This is insane,” Sam rasped against Dean’s neck, “I want you, I want to be back inside you so fucking badly, I’m aching for it.” 

“What are you waiting for?” Dean husked.

Sam definitely whined this time, pushing Dean’s legs up to their rightful place, and filling him back up with his cock that somehow felt even thicker and harder than before. It felt so fucking right.

“Oh God, Dean, yes!” Sam snapped his hips, fucking into his brother with hard quick thrusts, not holding back. Dean’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, reveling in the incredible stretch he missed so goddamn much it was sinful. 

“You fuck so good, I was so close before,” Dean groaned.

“Uhhnn.” His praise must be appreciated because Sam started stroking his cock for him, fucking him so that he bottomed out on every thrust. “I remember licking your ass, you know; so delicious. I remember it all.”

“Holy fuck, baby brother, that mouth.” He was impressed by his brother's adept tongue as well as his dirty words. He truly didn’t think the nerdy monk had it in him. 

“Watching you walk around the bunker, wanting your body, touching you everywhere, owning your ass.” He bit his neck.

“Me too, Sammy, me too. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all day. I wanted you the moment I saw you.”

“Dean,” Sam moaned his name and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was different from before when he said it as a stranger. This utterance of his name was steeped in their history, their dependence on one another, their unparalleled closeness. 

“Oh God, don't stop Sammy, don't stop!”

“I loved thinking you were mine,” Sam breathed the words into his ear and Dean’s stomach clenched harder than ever.

“Fuck, I am yours. All of me; yours.” His ass fluttered and clenched tighter around Sam’s shaft.

“Come for me, show me you love my cock, brother.” Sam shifted so that the head of his dick caught Dean’s prostate, hand punishingly jerking him off, and Dean damn near lost his vision he came so hard between their sweaty bodies. 

“Fill me, Sam, do it,” he moaned out, lips on Sam’s slick temple. Sam thrust into him a couple more times and then shuddered on top of him, shoving his come deep inside his ass. 

Sam laid all his weight on top of Dean, allowing Dean to wrap his arms around him, not wanting to let go or be empty just yet. Moving meant thinking, moving meant talking, moving meant Sammy spiraling again and wanting answers. Dean just wanted to enjoy the fantasy of being his lover, no questions asked, for a little longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> I loved doing a fill for this trope! Thoughts, feelings, opinions? Please leave some love!
> 
> Full prompt: 
> 
> Sam and Dean fall asleep on the couch. Cursed, they wake up with amnesia and assume they're in a relationship. Sex happens. The curse breaks mid-sex. Bottom!Dean.


End file.
